The Captain paid for the drinks and Ben pocketed the twenty francs, only to pull it out again immediately to order something else. “And say, you guys!” he says, while the garçon is serving us. “Did ya ever see me stick pins and needles through my jaws?” Whereupon he pulls a sewing kit from his pocket, takes half a dozen pins and jams them through his cheek. Then he stuck three needles through the other cheek. And he opened his mouth and let out a roar that shook the house. He looked fantastic, with his cheeks puffed out and the gleaming pins and needles sticking out from them.... At last, I said to myself, he’s getting drunk! It was almost closing time now and I decided to make a last break for freedom from the big monkey wrench. I sent him to the bar for a bottle of wine, then I seized Clark’s hand and literally dragged him off his seat and out the door. But it was no go. Ben saw us and followed, bellowing like a million giants. On the pavement he caught up with us and demanded, “Where ya goin’? What’s the rush?... Christ A’mighty, anybody’d think you two had somethin’ to do ’sides paint this ole burg red, white and blue!... Now I suggest that we go visitin’ in some nice ladies’ parlors, mes amis!” And then he started to sing: “Bon soir, ma chère,” etc., in that rattling, growling, devastating howl of his. Then he wanted us to have a drink of his own private concoction, a bottle of which he produced from his pocket. The Captain had to drink with him. Once more. Again. Clark was acting rather dizzy on his feet, but he managed to inquire, “My God, Ben, what is that—liquid dynamite?”